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“Want my nuts?”
Immediately, the man turned pale, his eyes bugging in his head. He began to choke, trying to cough up an almond which had lodged in his throat.
“Er, hey, Addie,” he said, calling her by the nickname he’d used when they’d first started dating. “Welcome back.” He scratched nervously at his chin, and Adele realized he had something strapped over his shoulder. A duffel bag.
Now that she looked, she realized Angus’s glasses had distracted her from his eyes, which were rimmed red. He’d been crying.
“I’m sorry, Addie,” he said, quietly. “I wanted to wait—to tell you in person.” “Tell—tell me what exactly?”
“Christ, I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he said. “I really, really do.”
“God, Addie, come on. Don’t make this tough. You knew this was coming. You had to have known this was coming…”
A moment too late, she saw the surgeon’s scalpel in the man’s left hand. Then he shoved her, hard, the plastic doll crying quietly in the night.
Elise Romei was missing three fingers on each hand; her eyes had been pierced. Cuts laced up and down her cheeks in curious, beautiful patterns as if gouged into felt, glistening red.
